


the guilt and the sorrow come like waves

by anotherthief



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2019-04-27 03:24:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14416635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherthief/pseuds/anotherthief
Summary: Post 8x09. Zola’s gone. Henry’s dead. The rest is just sugarcoating and placating.





	the guilt and the sorrow come like waves

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 12/6/11 on my LiveJournal.
> 
> For EJ.

She brings Cristina tea. It’s stupid really. They aren’t the kind of girls who drink tea. It’s just an excuse to invite herself over to Owen and Cristina’s.  
  
They’ve never been good at dealing with failures, and in the end that’s the only way she knows how to label them.  
  
Zola’s gone. Henry’s dead.  
  
The rest is just sugarcoating and placating.  
  
Her fingers wrap around the mug, but the warmth barely registers. It’s only been a month, but she knows she’s shutting down, crawling back into the dark twisty place. There’s a new scar so deep and so persistently raw that it puts the one her mother left to shame.  
  
Cristina takes a sip from her mug and makes a face before quickly covering. “It’s hot.” She says, clearing her throat, and places the mug on the coffee table.  
  
They lapse back into silence; the space separating them on the couch feels like miles. It’s funny how guilt works.  
  
Meredith closes her eyes, bracing herself through a short burst of grief. She swallows, the fight for composure has been won for now. The guilt and the sorrow come like waves, so fast and hard she can’t catch her breath or so agonizingly slow that she can’t shake it for hours, a weight on her chest like a ton of bricks.  
  
Cristina is staring out the window. She knows it’s been hard. Teddy won’t speak to her. No one blames her, but even with everything they’ve been through, this is foreign territory. They’ve lost patients, doctors, and they’ve even lost each other’s loved ones. They were almost here once before, but Denny didn’t die in surgery.  
  
The truth is Cristina is handling things much better than anyone expected, but the loss of Teddy’s confidence and mentoring has been hard, a lot harder than Meredith would suspect Cristina is willing to let on. Cristina might fool the rest of the hospital, but she can tell. Cristina’s her person. They’ve never needed complicated answers for their friendship; Cristina’s her person, therefore she is also Cristina’s and vice versa. It’s a fallacy, but it’s also the truth.  
  
The tea is growing cold, and she still hasn’t gotten up the courage to say what she came to say. If she doesn’t tell Cristina, it isn’t real. It’s a childish simplicity, but one of the few she has left.  
  
Everyone expected Derek to leave her, but she’s the one who served papers. She can’t look him in the eye, can’t stand to see the empty space of carpet that Zola’s crib once occupied, can’t breathe in the vast quietness their house has become.  
  
There’s a job in Boston waiting for her at the end of the month. If she puts a whole country between the past and the present maybe she can find enough room to breathe. Healing seems too distant a dream to ever hope for. But it worked for Derek, maybe. She shakes her head at the thought, but maybe lingers in her ears.  
  
Cristina will stay and Owen will fix her. Derek will find someone else; he’s done it before. Teddy will take a teaching position somewhere; Meredith thinks that sounds right. It’s what she’ll tell herself anyways. The world will go on without her. It’s that fact that sends the tears silently flowing once more.  
  
She puts her mug on the coffee table and closes the six inches between them, resting her head on Cristina’s shoulder.  
  
In an act of empathy few ever see, Cristina brings her arm around her shoulder and holds her tight, absorbing the waves without question. Meredith knows she’ll have to explain and there will be yelling and cursing followed by more tears and probably copious amounts of alcohol. But for tonight, she allows herself this selfish act of grief and takes the comfort she has been offered. Tomorrow she has to put back on the armor and put one foot in front of the other. It’s not healing, but it’s movement in the right direction and for now it will have to suffice.


End file.
